


Love Can Truly Live

by Eustacia Vye (eustaciavye)



Category: Book of Life (2014)
Genre: F/M, Polyamory Negotiations, Relationship Negotiation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2018-11-14
Packaged: 2019-08-23 17:51:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16623650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eustaciavye/pseuds/Eustacia%20Vye
Summary: Hear my song, I know I sing the truthAlthough you bred to fightI reach for kindness in your heart tonightIf you can forgive and if you can forgiveLove can truly live





	Love Can Truly Live

**Author's Note:**

  * For [realface](https://archiveofourown.org/users/realface/gifts).



Manolo Sánchez had achieved his dream of marrying María Posada after "The Chakal Incident," which is what María called it if he had to think of it at all. He had his own future now, and was writing his own story. It was exciting and intimidating, but not much more than it had been when in the underworld facing the massive bull. He knew who he was, and he knew what he wanted out of life. The only thing missing from it was Joaquín Mondragón, who hadn't yet returned to San Ángel after the incident.

Joaquín maybe felt as though he was a hero whose reputation was tarnished, but the townspeople still missed him. Manolo and María missed him as well, and as much as their marriage was a happy one, it didn't feel complete. They needed Joaquín back, though trying to find him was likely going to be a challenge. He had been everywhere outside of the town at some point, doing heroic deeds, so separating the stories of the past version of him with the current was a bit difficult. Initially the eye patch was an easy way to tell the stories apart, but either he got rid of it after a while or people stopped noticing it

"This is ridiculous," Maria said finally, huffing with frustration. "We need him _home,_ Manolo. He was a hero that day in San Ángel. He was willing to sacrifice himself for you, for me, for all of us."

"We've made it obvious that we want him back..."

"Maybe not obvious enough." María sat down on Manolo's lap and wound her arms around his neck. His hands fell comfortably around her waist, and he smiled up at her. "What? Why are you giving me that silly smile?"

"I like the look you get when you're on a mission," Manolo said, letting his fingers run up her spine from her waist, and his smile widened when he saw her shiver. "That determination, when you take charge."

María leaned her head down so that their foreheads touched. "Oh, I know you like it when I'm in charge of you, Manolo," she said, her voice a throaty purr.

"Think you have to take charge of me again?" he taunted as one hand slid under her arm to rest over the rise of her chest. "It was quite the fun morning."

She laughed, that throaty purr sliding down to his groin right away. "Oh, yes. I'll have to press the wrinkles out of my scarves," she teased him, tilting her chin so that she could kiss his forehead. "But no, not what I was thinking right now."

"Aw, but you got me so excited, María."

She leaned back far enough to cup his face with her hands. "Anticipating something you have to work for is good for you. Did you really think it would be that easy?"

He burst out laughing, remembering that she had said the words to him during his weak start to romancing her. "Is it the same with Joaquín, then? That we have to work on him?"

 _"Work on him,"_ María mimicked, rolling her eyes. "As if he's a quilt to put together."

"Isn't he, though? The stories we grew up with about his Papá, working so hard to be seen as a hero, constantly having to save everyone... Who takes care of him? Who helps him if it gets hard and he can't put on a brave face for everyone else?"

"Ay, Manolo," María said, running her thumbs over his lips and chin. "You feel so much, don't you?" she said softly, tilting her head to the side. "You love him, too?"

"Well, of course I do," Manolo huffed.

"Not just as a brother?" she pressed.

That gave him pause, and he stopped to think about it. "I don't think I've ever really thought of him as a brother. He's no Sánchez, but he's no brother either. So something else? But we're all friends, María. That's important."

"We've been married a year now," María began slowly, putting words to her thoughts for the first time. "But I also agreed to marry Joaquín that same day, before Chakal came in, before the town started fighting back. He never got a chance to answer that day, but we know he wanted to marry me." Manolo sighed and leaned into her touch. "More than me that day, but it's because we were pushed into it."

"You've always had feelings for him, too," Manolo murmured, still leaning into his touch.

"Well, it was better when I was in Spain," she admitted with a one shoulder shrug. "When he was saying all those horrible things like every other old man..." She grimaced. "Ugh."

"But then he was a hero," he prompted.

María laughed, a full throated belly laugh that warmed his heart. Because of course he was being silly, María would always love him and always care for Joaquín. He did as well, and it didn't mean he loved her any less. "Jealous again, Manolo?"

"Maybe sometimes," he murmured. "Because he's been a hero for so long, and I had my day, but the rest of the time..."

"Ay, _mi guitarrista,_ I chose you to marry, and I chose you to stay with forever." She leaned down and kissed him, full on the mouth and with her tongue swiping across his lip. "Yes, I love Joaquin, too. But it's different than my love for you. Never doubt that."

"I don't." At her arch expression, he laughed and got up, sweeping her into a carrying position in his arm. "I don't. I really don't. I just sometimes think I'm not good enough for you."

"Because you're not," she told him brightly, grinning to soften the words into a joke. "But I still love you anyway."

"Well, good," Manolo said, mirroring her bright mood. "Because I'll love you forever, from this world into the next."

María kissed him deeply, arms looped around his neck and her body pressed up tight against his as he carried her to their bedroom. "For all time, Manolo," she said softly.

They were complete together, but there was still the sense that their lives would be better with Joaquín in it.

***

Joaquín had stopped wearing the eye patch when he realized it didn't matter. He didn't need to care about his looks because that wasn't the important part of his identity. The stories told about him didn't have to stress how handsome and dashing he was, how heroic his deeds were, how important he was to their lives. Instead, he cared more for finding his place in the world, for finding that sense of home and completeness that he had in that last moment in San Ángel. His heart had swollen with pride and love and _rightness,_ and not the kind he'd ever felt when being praised as a hero and warrior greater than his father. He had _belonged,_ and he had earned it truly. Not because of a medal, but because of his own decision.

He loved María, and that would never change. He saw now that his love was different, selfish in a way, because she had filled the picture he'd held in his mind for so long, not because he valued the same things that she did. Joaquín hadn't been listening, and it was only after a few months of travel that he thought he could begin to truly hear everything that others had to say.

The roads were long and empty and harsh, but carried a rhythm of their own. They carried a life and a music, and he could hear the whistle of the wind and miss Manolo and his guitar with an ache that twisted his gut. His life in San Ángel was an idyllic dream he longed for, one he didn't feel worthy of after cheating for so long. If he could earn it somehow, find a way back to the boy he'd been with Manolo and María, running through the streets and laughing at the feel of the cobblestones beneath his feet and the sun on his skin. It had been simple and pure happiness, the joy of living that he had lost as he had grown up.

Of course eventually his feet brought him back toward the town of his birth, back to María and Manolo and the vague sense of regret and loss and shame that came with his thoughts of how puffed up and important he had wanted to seem.

Humbled and alone, he entered San Ángel a stranger that no one recognized anymore. The town looked essentially the same, which made sense. It couldn't have been even a year since he had left, if that long, and how much could actually change in a year's time?

Joaquín had changed a lot. But people were far more malleable than stone and buildings and memories of greatness.

With this kind of mindset, Joaquín stumbled into a taquería and dug about in his pockets for the money to at least buy himself something to eat. The hunger was constant, a dull and gnawing ache in his gut that was as familiar as his own name. 

He didn't even brush his fingers against the meager collection of coins he had left when he heard the strumming of a guitar in the village square. It could have been a coincidence, but somehow Joaquín knew without a doubt that it was Manolo, still in the village, still strumming his guitar as if it was the only thing that could ever save him. Joaquín knew better by now; it might have been the medal that had kept him from dying a year ago in the square, but it was love that made Joaquín pin it to his back to ensure his survival.

Tears in his eyes, left for the square, following the faint and haunting melody being carried on the breeze. He could smell the familiar scents of the town, hear the sounds and rhythms of the people as they walked about the streets and went about their usual day to day business. It was familiar, achingly so, and his feet walked the path without his even being aware. He heard the music and knew it was one of Manolo's favorite creations, could hear the haunting echo of María's laughter as they raced through the streets, daring each other to go farther, faster, higher, better, stronger, harder.

The music ended with a discordant jangle, and Joaquín heard Manolo call his name as if through a fog. Then arms circled him, and Joaquín found himself sobbing as he clutched Manolo, face buried in his neck. "I missed you," he sobbed, clutching at the silly little jacket that he wore, the delicate embroidery rough under his fingers. "I missed María."

"We want you home," Manolo said, clutching him just as tightly, just as fiercely. "We never wanted you gone. We want you _home._ With us."

 _"Sí,"_ Joaquín sobbed. "I want to come home again."

"You're home, _amigo,"_ Manolo said, still not letting go when Joaquín would have pulled back and away to wipe at his face. "You're coming home with me, and you're never leaving us like that again, you hear? You belong with us."

With us. The repetition was getting to him, a refrain that echoed in his mind. Joaquín loved this man, loved María, and they hadn't been disappointed in him after all. They loved him back, had wanted him home all this time, too.

He was home with those he loved.

***

María was in the yard, gardening and taking care of an herb garden that seemed a little more complicated than it really had to be for a single household. Bundles of herbs were drying on a trellis against one wall, and everything was serene and quiet. She stood as soon as she heard Manolo, wiping her hands on a small towel she had left hear her tools, then gasped as soon as she saw Joaquín. She ran to him and practically flung herself in his arms, then pressed a kiss to his cheek. "You're home, you're home," she said, the joy unmistakable.

The house was simple and comforting, cool after the hot sun outside. Joaquín looked around, uncertain, but of course María was already taking charge. She sent Manolo to start running a bath, and she was pulling him toward the bathroom while exclaiming over his filthy clothes. "You still have all your muscles and you're taller than Manolo, but I can let out the shoulders of one of his shirts. That will last you until I get measurements to the tailor."

"But you can't do that," he protested. His expression quieted in the face of María's fierce one, and his shoulders slumped. "But why?"

She smacked the back of his head. "Because we love you, you idiot. All you had to do was come home to us."

He didn't say anything, head hung a little low as Manolo tested the water for warmth. María continued tugging at his clothes, and made a huffy sound when he protested. "I know what a man looks like naked."

"But María," Joaquín began, sputtering.

"Joaquín," Manolo said quietly, looking at him with an intense expression. "It's all right. It's _us._ Whatever scars you have, don't be ashamed of them. Not all scars are physical. We'll help you heal."

"It's not that," Joaquín said, voice thick with emotion. "I don't deserve you..."

María snorted. "Of course not. I tell Manolo that all the time. But I love you anyway. Love isn't about _deserve,_ it's about just wanting you safe and happy. It's about wanting to be there for you. Helping you." She divested the last of his clothing until he stood there naked in front of them both, scars and bruises visible.

The couple practically manhandled Joaquín into the bath, and neither said a word about the marks of his year away from them. Manolo took care of soaping and scrubbing his body, carefully dabbing at any of the fresher wounds, and María scrubbed his hair. Any time Joaquín tried to move, both shushed him and assured him that they wanted to take care of him. María was the first to notice that he couldn't maintain eye contact and seemed embarrassed. "You think we care about your scars?" she asked, stroking his shoulder in support.

"I... I..."

"What is it?" Manolo asked, sitting back on his haunches.

Joaquín turned his face away and tried to resist them turning his face back to them. "Ay, don't shut us out again," María murmured, massaging his shoulders. "We love you, Joaquín. We want to help you."

"Stop saying you love me," Joaquín moaned, squeezing his eyes shut as he refused to look at them. His hands beneath the water's edge were closed tightly into fights, as if he couldn't even trust himself to push them away. "Just stop."

"Never," Manolo told him, reaching over to squeeze his knee as María stroked his shoulders and neck. She could see the fine tremors in his body, the way he swallowed and his lips trembled.

"Don't you love us back?" she asked, scratching at his scalp with her nails gently.

Joaquín's breath hitched, and his expression was pained. "Too much."

"No such thing!" María cried as Manolo said "Impossible!"

"I wasn't what the town needed, I wasn't what you needed. I wanted to find my place out from under my father's shadow, but I found nothing out there," Joaquín said in anguish, finally opening his eyes and turning to look at them. "I have _nothing."_

"You have us," María said softly, letting her hand slide down the back of his neck to his arm.

"And if that changes? When you can't be bothered with me?"

"Never," Manolo insisted. "You're a part of us, Joaquín," he insisted, pulling him up to a sitting position. María helped, and curled her arms around him, pressing her chest to his back, not minding the bath water.

"Don't be scared, Joaquín," María crooned softly. She kissed his shoulder, then looked up through her lashes at Manolo. At his slight nod, she shifted position and leaned over to kiss his cheek, close to the corner of his mouth.

"You have to forgive the past," Manolo murmured, clasping one of Joaquín's hands in both of his. "We said things in anger, we did things we regret. But we learn from them. We become better for it. Don't be sad about the things you can't change."

"Listen to _la guitarrista,"_ María said, kissing his cheek again. "Don't feel sorry for yourself or how things happened. Maybe it had to be. Manolo talked to La Muerte and Xibalba when he was in the underworld, and you saw them a year ago in the square. We were like puppets to them."

"Free of their bet," Manolo continued, picking up the thread that María dropped, "we can be who we were always meant to be. So I play my guitar in the square and give lessons in music and dance, believe it or not." He grinned at Joaquín's incredulous look. "María has any number of adventures, and is the village healer."

She grinned when the incredulous look came in her direction next. "Can you believe I studied herbalism and midwifery?"

"What _didn't_ you learn?" Joaquín cried, brows knit in confusion.

María gave him a wicked grin. "How to have two men in my bed at once."

Joaquín gaped at her, at Manolo. "But—"

"We love you," Manolo told him simply.

"For always. In this life and the next," María said with a nod when Joaquín looked back at her.

Visibly swallowing, Joaquín gave them both a plaintive look. There was such longing and fear that it almost hurt María's heart to see it. "What if you tire of this game?"

"It's no game," María said, gently brushing the wet hair from his forehead. "We're lonely without you. Something's missing. _Someone's_ missing, and that someone is you. The three of us, we're better together than apart. Of that, I'm sure of."

Manolo tugged on Joaquín's hand and brought him forward again. Their mouths met awkwardly, a mashing of lips and teeth that still left them breathless. María looked at them in satisfaction, a sensuous smile on her face. "Beautiful."

"Your turn," he said, nodding at Joaquín and María. "I'm not too good at this."

"I think you're doing great," María said, smile gentle and fond. She turned Joaquín's face and cupped the back of his head in her hand. Her kiss was soft, a press of lips without too much pressure for more. "It won't be perfect. _We_ won't be perfect. But none of us are and nothing good ever really is, is it?"

"Forgive the past," Manolo urged him, reaching forward and rubbing his arm when a shiver wracked through him. "All we can ever do is our best. It's easy to say it's not enough when we look back, but we don't know that at the time."

"Manolo and I had time to think about it and get used to the idea. No pressure on you," María assured him. "If it's not what you want, it's not what you want. But we'd like to try."

Joaquín swallowed and shivered again. "I'd... I haven't thought of it like that, exactly. But I know I've loved you so much for so long. And I haven't deserved you or been worthy of your love."

"You don't earn love," Manolo told him "You just have it. Without question, for always. From both of us."

María gave Manolo a fond smile. "And you said you're no good at this. Bah, you're just nervous," she chided.

"Aren't you?" Joaquín asked, surprise coloring his tone.

"Afraid you won't say yes," she admitted. "That you'll leave us again. The town will be so empty without you."

"You were going to marry me to protect this town," Joaquín said quietly. "That doesn't say much about the love you have for me."

"I _did_ marry you," she reminded him. "I said my vows, you didn't." He gaped at her in surprise, as he clearly hadn't remembered that. "And I have married Manolo, and we've had a happy year together. I just think we'll be happier all together." She shifted slightly, expression dimming slightly. "I thought that was the only way to make you stay to protect us. I thought you would simply leave, chasing the next bit of glory, leaving us all behind again. You didn't seem to care about me as anything other than a medal you could hang on your uniform."

Joaquín closed his eyes in shame. "I was a fool."

"Yes, you were," María said promptly, making his eyes snap back open incredulously. "But I still love you, so what does that make me?"

"Another fool in love," Manolo answered when Joaquín didn't seem able to. He grinned at the other man and decided to get to his feet. "You've soaked in there long enough. Come out, stay with us. Let us love you, and let yourself love us back."

"There's another meaning there," Joaquín said uncertainly, looking at Manolo's outstretched hand and then at his smiling face.

"Duh," María declared, getting to her feet as well. She mimicked Manolo's outstretched stance and had a challenging expression on her own face. "So? Just going to stay there in the cold? Or are you going to be brave and work for what you want?"

Taking a bracing breath, Joaquín grasped both their hands and let them help him up. They toweled him off gently, caressing his skin with hands and the towel, and then tucked him into their bed to sleep comfortably for the first time in a year. "No pressure," Manolo assured him. "Whatever you can give us will make us happy."

"What if I want to give you everything?" Joaquín asked, voice tremulous.

María and Manolo grinned warmly. "Then we can truly live," Manolo told him.

"In this world and into the next, no matter where you are," María promised.

Joaquín grasped their hands tightly, then pulled them into bed with him. There would be time for more later, but for right now, it was enough. They were together again, and this time for good.

The End


End file.
